


A Notch on the Resume

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, Headcanon, M/M, Oral Sex, Squick, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2535455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet's a sadistic Autobot, Ambulon's a cowardly former Decepticon trying to prove himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Notch on the Resume

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of old. But, yeah. Dubcon darkfic.
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://captainbaneberry.tumblr.com/post/101320793898/a-notch-on-the-resume-1456-words-by-baneberry): because a reblog is always appreciated! （●>ω・）ﾉ

Ambulon swallowed. The floor was cold where he knelt, but the heat between their bodies almost burned. He couldn't stop... staring. At. It. It was just--he should have known it'd be... big. And modified. Because--

"Don't just stare at it."

Ambulon winced and looked up at Ratchet nervously, the Autobot medic leering down at him. He grabbed the back of Ambulon's helm, yanked his head forward, his cord sliding and pressing against his cheek.

"Suck."

Ambulon felt a shiver run down his spine, blossoming in a strange, tight heat in his groin. Once Ratchet removed his hand, he sat back again, lips just barely touching the tip of the rather... thick cord. He glanced up at Ratchet again, yellow optics flickering.

With another gulp, Ambulon slowly wrapped cautious fingers--very loosely--around the base of the cord. Moved in, and lightly licked the head. He started uneasily down its length, dragging lips, and tongue back up. Nothing too heavy; he was still very, very nervous. Drew his lips to the head again and gently lashed his tongue at the sl--

Ambulon grunted, doubling over at the swift kick to his abdomen. "I know this isn't the first time you've been on your knees, Genericon," Ratchet growled, reached down and took Ambulon by one head extension. Roughly yanked the blue and purple medic up on his feet, face to face. "So, what? Are you trying to make me laugh? Are you trying to make me angry with this pathetic attempt at... whatever it is you think you're doing remotely right?" he snarled.

Ambulon gasped as Ratchet's grip tightened around the extension, the metal about to cave under pressure.

"Because if it's the latter, you're doing a damn good job, Ambulon. Unlike most of the things you do."

Ambulon grimaced. "S-Sir, I'm s--"

"Shut up!" Ratchet snapped and threw Ambulon back on the ground. The former Decepticon gathered to his knees. Optics widening as the Autobot took him by the face. "I'm not ordering you to use your mouth for talking!"

Ambulon choked on his cry--and on the cord as it was suddenly slammed to the damn hilt inside his mouth, against his intakes. He felt his gag reflex react, but he could not purge. Throat tubes tightened around the hot unit, pitifully adjusting. He gasped when Ratchet pulled himself free; fell forward again, coughing and hacking up spittles of coolant.

"Would you like me to do that again, Ambulon?"

Ambulon shivered. He rubbed his throat, invented. No, no. He had to take initiative. He had to--had to show Ratchet he was good. (Good to keep, good to use, useful, valuable, resourceful.) He braced his hands against the medic's thighs, mouth opening wide; took the cord, working down until he felt his throat tubes stretch painfully. Only half of it, but... Ambulon forced his throat to open wider, ignoring the need to gag. Taking that entire unit in his mouth again. Pitiful yellow optics peered up at Ratchet for approval.

"Ah, see?" Ratchet chuckled, patting the top of his assistant's helm. "You can do it all by yourself!" He frowned again. "Now suck."

Ambulon closed his optics. Concentrated a moment. He withdrew again, but only half-way. Pushed the rest of the cord back down his throat. It was still hot and painful, but he could feel his tubes and intake start to better accommodate. He worked in slow, heavy strides, only picking up the pace when his throat stretched an inch more--

"Do I have to do everything myself?"

Ambulon squeezed his optics shut again. Ratchet took the back of his helm, held him in place as he ruthlessly pumped in and out of the former Decepticon's mouth. Ambulon's groan vibrated against the unit, and Ratchet purred. "Good, good, keep doing that," he smirked.

Ambulon placed his shaky hands back on the floor. Repeatedly taking that cord much too deep every time. The moans and whimpers were not for Ratchet's pleasure, but only natural. It hurt like Hell, but he had to play along.

"Ah, but you know," Ratchet sneered over the repeated snapping of his hips. Ambulon looked up at him with that sad face and lips wrapped around his boss's cord. "Pharma was talkative, too. But he knew how to use his mouth more expertly."

Ambulon momentarily felt a flare of rage in his ember.

Ratchet slowly lifted his hand; now it was all Ambulon. Fucking that cord in his mouth all by himself. His throat had gone numb now, which made things a little easier. He exvented, drawing his head back, mouth free, but went right back to work. His tongue drew heavy lines along the length, leaving behind tracks of coolant; lashed at the slit, before taking the entire unit back into his mouth with new ease.

Ratchet was absolutely delighted. He felt his knees quiver, stumbled back against the berth behind him. His optics were furiously bright, half-lidded, cheekplates hot. "O-Oh, so much better. Such an improvement you've made, Ambulon," he purred, a sound coming deep from his throat. "You should hear the noises you're making. They're absolutely," and his grin widened, optics flashing, "obscene."

Ambulon didn't stop to relish the compliments, nor thank his boss. Continued pumping that unit back and forth in his mouth with vigor.

Ratchet groaned, optics shutting; he chewed into his bottom lip, tittered. Oh, yes, yes. He hadn't had a good overload in a while now. "O-Oh," he giggled, sagging a little, "it seems I'm... I'm losing control."

Ambulon sped up the pace. Ratchet's gasp was the first sign of overload. Ambulon went to withdraw, but then Ratchet slapped a hand back on his head, held him there, cord still in his mouth. Electricity flickered from his frame when he climaxed; Ambulon winced as transfluid burst down his sore throat, and it-- Why was there so much? He whimpered, but Ratchet kept his head in place, continued his release.

"N-No no," Ratchet snickered.

A second later, and Ratchet fell boneless against the edge of the berth. He smirked down at Ambulon, a tired little thing. "Swallow it," he ordered, and unceremoniously withdrew his cord.

Ambulon had meant to, but it-- While he had managed to swallow most of it, he purged the rest his tanks could not take. Coughed up the transfluid in a small puddle on the floor he knelt on.

"Oh, dear."

The former Decepticon was shivering. The pain had returned full force in his throat, a raw, biting sensation. He glanced up at Ratchet, weak, exhausted, afraid. Ratchet squatted before him, a thumb gently wiping away a line of transfluid dribbling down Ambulon's chin.

"That simply won't do. You need to swallow it _all._ "

Ratchet didn't need to explain what he was implying. Ambulon bowed his head, received a condescending pat to the cheek. His arms shook as he pressed himself to the ground, tongue slowly licking up the transfluid he had purged.

Ambulon had once been a fairly humble, albeit bored Decepticon. When he was specially chosen for a gestalt experiment, the idea of gaining such immense power and strength drove Ambulon to undergo the operation, to become something new. But that power was only to be used to defend, to guard, to help protect and move civilians. Infuriated and offended they'd use such power for ridiculous things, Ambulon abandoned the Decepticons, hoping the Autobots would recognize his true potential, and the hunger and drive he had to fight and prove himself a powerful, formidable opponent.

That was the original intention. The original goal. To be taken seriously, to be given a position worthy of his talent and skills. But only his medical expertise was found useful, and instead of on the battle field, he was confined to the torture house that was the Autobot sickbay. And fear, overwhelming fear, kept him from ever going back, even if he wanted to.

That was how it was suppose to be. Ratchet lost his protege, the only mech he trusted that wouldn't have the gall to usurp him--gone forever, and all that work, thrown into the trash. Like Ambulon, Pharma ran too. "You aren't Pharma," Ratchet had said when they first met, pinning Ambulon to the wall, "but you _are_ more of a coward then he ever was."

Ambulon had never met Pharma, but hated him more than his own arrogant, ignorant, weak self.

"Just in case," Ratchet cooed, placing his foot heavily on top of Ambulon's head, "you need a little help."

Ambulon gulped, whimpered in pain. But he continued lapping up the fluid, much like a cat with a bowl of cream.

Ratchet sighed, so very pleased. All that tension and anger was suddenly gone. Finally, he could relax.


End file.
